Lucas's Pov
Mornings at my house are… quiet. Not peaceful, quiet, the kind that hugs you. No, it's the kind that feels like something's missing.
Because something is missing.
I came downstairs to the smell of burnt toast and coffee. My mom was at the kitchen table, already dressed for work, scrubs slightly wrinkled, hair pulled back too tight, dark circles under her eyes she didn't even bother to hide.
"You're up early," she said, eyes still glued to her phone.
"Couldn't sleep," I mumbled, opening the fridge even though I knew there wasn't anything I wanted.
"Anything special today?" she asked, still scrolling.
"Just a normal day."
She nodded. That was the end of that.
I poured cereal into a bowl and sat across from her. We didn't talk much in the mornings. Or the afternoons. Or at all, really.
Ever since Dad died, it'd been like this. Me, her, the silence.
We tried to keep going like things were fine, but the grief had rearranged everything. There were too many memories in the old house. His chair, his tools, the scent of his cologne that still clung to the closet. Every corner whispered his name. Eventually, we packed up and left. Not because we wanted to, but because we couldn't keep living in a house that reminded us of who we'd lost every single day.
So now we are here.
New place. New school, but still the same emptiness.
Ava finally came down the stairs, dragging her backpack behind her like it owed her something. She sat on the chair beside me and stole a spoonful of my cereal without asking. I didn't stop her.
"Your breath is disgusting," I said.
"Yours smells like hopelessness" she shot back.
That actually made me laugh. Ava was the only person in this house who still managed to shine through the weight we all carried.
"You ready for school?" I asked her.
"Ready to survive it," she said. "That counts, right?"
"Yeah," I said. "That counts."
Our house isn't small but I wouldn't consider it big either. There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms,and walls thick enough to keep in the silence. Before Dad died, it used to feel like home. Now it just feels like a house we exist in.
I grabbed my bag, checked the time, and headed for the door.
Mom looked up and in a threatening voice said , "Stay out of trouble"
"I'll try not to." I said. But my thoughts were already drifting.
To Ivey.
To her voice, her laugh, the way she said my name.
I wasn't planning on caring about anyone here.
But maybe plans didn't matter anymore.
Before going to school every morning I have to drop off my sister to her school before going to mine. At this point I feel like my sister's parent more than a brother since my mom doesn't really take care of my sister, I have to feed my sister and take care of her, I also have to pick her up and drop her off to school. All my mom does is go to work.
I grabbed the keys off the counter, my backpack slung over one shoulder, and motioned for Ava to follow.
"Let's go, Ava."
She ran after me, still chewing the last bite of her cereal. I opened the car door for her like I always did and waited until she was buckled before starting the engine. The drive was short, but Ava filled it with noise, humming along to whatever pop song came on the radio, drumming her fingers on the window. I let her talk. Or sing. Or complain. I didn't mind. Some days she was the only thing that reminded me there was still some softness left in the world.
When we pulled up to her school, she turned to me and asked, "You think I'm annoying?"
I glanced at her. "Constantly."
She smirked. "You love it."
"I do," I said. And I meant it.
She grabbed her backpack and got out of the car. Before she shut the door, she leaned in and added, "Say hi to your hallway crush for me."
I rolled my eyes. "Go. Before you're late."
She slammed the door and waved before disappearing into the crowd of kids.
And just like that, the car was quiet again.
I headed toward my school, my mind already drifting to a certain someone I knew I'd see again soon.
Ivey's Pov
Mornings at my house are… controlled. Like every second has a purpose. My mom's already in the kitchen, slicing fruit into perfectly even pieces. My dad's in the living room, buried in work emails, barely looking up as I come downstairs.
"Morning, sweetheart," my mom said, without glancing up from her cutting board.
"Morning," I reply, grabbing an apple before she can insist I sit for a 'proper breakfast.'
I'm already dressed, hair brushed,and makeup done. My mom always says, "Presentation matters."
My mom and dad and perfectionists and that's one of my main reasons of stress, they always expect me to be perfect. Perfect grade, perfect look… perfect life.
I've learned, looking like you've got it together makes people believe you actually do.But I don't feel together. Not today. Not lately.
Especially not since yesterday.
Not since him.
I tried to forget about Lucas the second I got home. Tried to pretend he wasn't already creeping into corners of my thoughts. But he was. The way he talked, the way he looked at me, not in that weird, braggy guy way, but like he actually saw me.
And that scared me more than I want to admit.
"You're quiet this morning," my mom says.
"I'm fine," I lied, putting on my shoes. Because in this house, 'fine' is the safe answer.
Outside, the sky is gray but clear. I pull my hoodie tighter around me and head to school, hoping that I won't see him.